


Consequences

by FreudianSlaps



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Open Relationships, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, but this au has a twist and that twist is kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22883356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreudianSlaps/pseuds/FreudianSlaps
Summary: After a brief separation, Geralt and Jaskier effortlessly reunite with a quick scene.Heavily inspired by the kink club au by feedingmyinsomnia on tumblr.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 203





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first actual, honest to got fanfiction in nearly 5 years. Be gentle.

Jaskier’s trip to the apartment was mundane and uneventful. He took the city bus to the corner stop then walked three blocks south until he came to a familiar multistory building. There wasn’t a properly functioning elevator, so he took the stairs, as freelancing could only buy so much luxury. His key jingled in the lock that always stuck, but with a good firm push of his shoulders it gave way to the small, ‘cozy’ living space. He dropped his backpack onto the couch, then straightened his shirt as he noticed a familiar motorcycle helmet resting on the well worn coffee table. His heart leapt at the sight, and his eyes immediately cut to the barely-cracked bedroom door. 

After toeing off his shoes and tossing them in the general direction of the heap beside the front door, he padded barefoot towards the bedroom. His fingertips softly pushed the door open just enough for him to slip inside. It had been two full weeks since he had seen him. He couldn’t have helped the dopey grin that crossed his features when their eyes met if he tried, but he demurely averted his eyes just as Geralt expected.

In a simple black henley and equally dark jeans, Geralt sat on the edge of their shared bed. His elbows rested on his thighs and his chin was held in one hand, almost successfully hiding the slight twitch of his lips. It was difficult for both of them not to break character, but Geralt would be the last to admit any such failure on his part.

As negotiated before, the scene started, as they usually did, with Jaskier shedding his clothes. Having come straight from class, he was still in a plain button up with the sleeves pushed to his elbows and a pair of khakis nicer than most of the clothes Geralt owned. Impatient as always, he started by attempting to pull his shirt over his head to save time, but a soft grunt of disapproval was enough to slow him down. He undid the buttons one by one, gradually baring the plain white t-shirt underneath. As he peeled up his second layer, pale skin dusted with dark hair was revealed. As he took the time to undo the buckle of his slim leather belt, he could feel those his eyes running over his bare chest. 

There was a thrill to being so acutely observed, to the intense scrutiny only Geralt seemed capable of putting him under that hadn’t waned with time or familiarity. It helped that Jaskier was never found wanting. He dropped his belt into the growing pile of his clothes, then started on the button of his fly. His pace went from lackadaisical to tortuous now, and each movement was deliberate, measured, and slow. Khakis slid down strong, pedestrian thighs, and were kicked aside the moment they were around his ankles. His thumbs pushed under the elastic of his trunks, but he stopped his efforts to remove them as Geralt leaned back where he sat; a nonverbal cue to slow down. Even from where Jaskier stood he could see that his pupils had dilated, and that his nostrils flared as he took a heavy breath. 

While Geralt had made it clear in the past that he thought Jaskier’s choice of undergarments were ‘garish,’ he still appreciated their close fit and the little they left to the imagination. Gradually, he eased them down from each hip. The back slides over the swell of his ass, and in one smooth push he frees his semi-firm shaft. He can hear Geralt inhale from across the room, and he doesn’t even try to hide his own smile as he keeps his eyes to the floor. Once past the thickest part of his thighs, he drops the trunks to the floor and kicks them onto the pile with the rest of his clothes. Laundry and ironing were a future Jaskier problem.

Just as unbidden as the disrobing, he dropped slowly to his knees and placed his hands on the top of his thighs. He settled back as comfortably as he could, knowing he would not be in this position for long. He beamed up at the other man expectantly, the anticipation of praise making him thrum with excitement. If it weren’t for his position, he was sure his leg would have been bouncing. For all of his efforts, he received a soft pleased hum as Geralt finally stood.

He circled him as he appraised him, again wordlessly applying his scrutiny to the bare body before him. His footsteps came to a stop once he was at his back, and for a moment nothing happened. Jaskier had learned by now not to turn to look at him, so he kept his eyes straight ahead and his posture rigid. Satisfying whatever criteria Geralt had, he was rewarded with strong fingers running through his hair. Jaskier tilted his head back into the touch with a soft, pleased hum of his own, his eyes having nearly slipped closed.

“I’ve missed you,” he finally chances to say, and is relieved when fingernails softly run over his scalp in approval.

“Oh?”

“It’s been nearly a fortnight. I was half afraid you’d gone and gotten yourself killed on one of those jobs of yours,” he elaborated, ending with an exaggerated pout. He doesn’t voice his true worry. He knew what he really feared was based on nothing more than insecure, unsubstantiated anxieties, and he didn’t want to sour the moment by bringing _her_ up.

“Not as of yet,” he responded with a quiet chuckle, drawing his hand away. Jaskier sighed in disappointment at the lost touch, but it is soon forgotten when Geralt continues with a simple order, “On the bed. Facing me.”

He didn’t scramble, but he did move quickly, climbing onto the mattress with none of the grace he was otherwise known for. He grinned eagerly again as he settled onto his knees near the bed’s edge, until he noticed Geralt flicking his wrist for him to back up. He takes a few awkward, half-crawling steps backwards, only stopping when Geralt nods and approaches the foot of the bed.

“Lay back and grab the headboard.”

As he did as he was told, he heard empty boots hit the floor. His fingers curled around the wrought iron bars of the headboard and as he felt the mattress sink with Geralt’s weight, he lifted his head up to watch him approach.

“You are absolutely killing me with anticipation. Is this your great evil plan, to move so slowly that I must beg you to get close enough to touch me?” A touch to the inside of calf encouraged him to spread his legs, making room for Geralt to kneel between his knees. Jaskier experimentally curls one leg behind Geralt and when that isn’t met with disapproval he wraps his other around him as well. He crossed his ankles behind him and gently pulls him closer with the strength in his legs, earning himself a swat with no real force behind it and a soft, amused hum. The rough fabric of Geralt’s jeans presses against the soft skin of Jaskier’s inner thighs, giving him just enough friction to tease. 

“Keep your grip,” he instructed, ignoring the goading as he reached one hand to cup the side of his face. The kiss starts almost tenderly. It isn’t unusual or out of the ordinary, but it had been nearly two weeks since they had last seen each other. Jaskier knows better than to push for something deeper without being invited, but he let his willingness be known through a soft, encouraging whine and a quick squeeze of his thighs. Geralt relented with a swipe of his tongue, his taste delving just past Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier’s head rose to push back against him, and his grip on the headboard tightened. It was devilishly unfair that he couldn’t card his fingers through the other man’s long hair, nor grab his collar to tug him back down as he started to move up and away.

“Horrible tease,” he said almost the instant their lips parted, but it is with a soft, “ _Oh_ ,” that he realized why. Geralt’s lips traced a line over his jaw and down his neck. He tilted his head back to bare his pale throat and he isn’t at all disappointed when the trail descends to his collarbone. Geralt’s large hand smoothes down over Jasier’s neck and chest, stopping to drag his thumb over the pink bud of his nipple. Quite prepared to accuse Geralt once more, his protest is caught in his throat as his warm, wet mouth slides over the other nipple. His back arched upwards and his hips rolled, seeking friction that Geralt was currently unwilling to give. Jaskier attempted to huff indignantly, but the sound transformed as teeth worked his tender skin. Calloused fingers continued to run down his body, tracing the trail of hair from his navel downwards.

“Geralt-” his voice was breathier than he meant it to be, and it broke in disappointment when Geralt’s hand diverted to smooth down his inner thigh, passing over his shaft entirely. Fingernails dragged back up the pliant skin, and then his fingertips passed through the curls at his base, drawing forth another expectant sigh. Wet, sucking kisses created a path between Jaskier’s chest and abdomen as Geralt took his precious time traversing down his body. Jaskier uncurled his legs to rest his feet against the mattress, and pushed into his heels. As a kiss was pressed against his hip, just as Geralt’s hand finally stroked over the length of him. His figners curled around his shaft, then thumbed against the bead of fluid that had seeped from his tip. 

With a pleased, humming sigh, Jaskier pushed his hips up further, only to have Geralt pin them to the mattress with his other hand. This drew a second, more petulant, “ _Geralt_.”

“Hmn?” he hummed as he pressed his cheek against his thigh, looking up to meet Jaskier’s bright eyes. The pad of his thumb smeared his fluid over his swollen glans, and the corner of his lip twitched as he watched the man beneath him squirm. Jaskier huffed indignantly and stopped struggling, letting his legs rest still on either side of Geralt. Satisfied by the show of submission, Geralt rewarded Jaskier by stroking down the length of him as he lifted his head to slide the hot, wet flat of his tongue around the flare of Jaskier’s crown. His heels dug into the bed sheets again as he resumed squirming, but he made no attempt to struggle up against the hand pinning him down. Once lips closed over his tip, he gasped and released a soft profanity. 

“ _Fuck_ , that’s- _it_ ,” Jaskier breathed as Geralt’s lips slid down over him in steady passes. His tongue pressed against the underside of him as he descended until he was swallowing against his head, taking his last inch in so that his nose brushed against the softness at the base of his abdomen. In no apparent rush, he took his time sliding back as he applied steady suction. His eyes hadn’t wavered from the gaze ahead of him, even as Jaskier’s eyes lidded low. Jaskier made a sound at the back of his throat as Geralt continued his slow ascents and descents. The pace he had taken was purposefully maddening and they both knew it. Jaskier felt perfectly within his rights to roll his hips against the mattress before inspiration strikes him, “Geralt, _please_ , it- it’s been two weeks. I haven’t been touched- I’ve _languished_ , all alone-” It wasn’t entirely an exaggeration. Other than some brief flirtations that had gone nearly nowhere, he had simply been otherwise too occupied. His most recent intimacy had been on the eve of Geralt’s departure. There was an understanding between the two of them, a lack of exclusivity that either man was comfortable with. It didn’t change the raw appeal of an unsatisfied Jaskier left waiting and wanting for his return. 

Jaskier was sure that this tactic had failed him as Geralt soundlessly let him slide out of his mouth. He took him in his hand and stroked him with the slick of their combined fluid as he rose back up to his knees. The hand at his hip pushes him firmly against the mattress a final time, a wordless command, before he leans over and reaches for the bedside table. There was a brief rummage through the drawer’s contents, but it was when Jaskier heard a familiar plastic click that he knew his success.

“You really waited for me?” he asked with an amused exhale before he eased himself back down between his thighs. The hand that had stroked him and slipped away, and he was left lying untouched in anticipation.

“Sure,” he responded quickly, already drawing his legs up. Geralt signaled his approval with a quiet chuckle and the press of a kiss against the inside of his thigh, “Lying in this big, empty bed, thinking of nothing but your rough touch and the fierce erotisicm of your expressive grunts-” This earned him another light swat, but the inevitable slide of a slick fingertip down his perineum was enough to make his sarcasm melt into a hum of want. The temptation to lift his hips returned, but he kept himself grounded, “Fuck, Geralt, I was _patient_.”

“Doubtful,” he chided before allowing his touch to circle Jaskier’s puckered muscle, applying just enough pressure to make him squirm and push against him. He took him in hand once more, then lapped up the bead of fresh fluid that had seeped from his tip. As his lips descended over him once more his fingertip began to breech him, testing the tightness of the muscle. With a curl of his wrist he pushed into him, sliding easily against his front wall. Though he had since memorized the proper angle, the exact depth of his center, he avoided it for the moment and instead pushed a second finger inside of him as he sucked down his shaft.

“Please don’t tease-” Jaskier entreats breathily, and Geralt appeared to be merciful. With an adjusted angle and a firmer press, he slid over Jaskier’s bundle of nerves, drawing a soft cry. The motion of his fingers began to align with the dips and rises of his head as Geralt steadily swallowed him to the root before pulling back so that his lips teased his crown. Jaskier’s hips rocked down against his hand, bearing down on him with growing desperation. Geralt allowed this, tolerating the slight push up into his mouth. 

As a third finger pushed into him and Geralt’s lips pressed flush to his base, Jaskier reached down to pull against Geralt’s hair, to scratch his sensitive scalp in just the way he knew that he liked. Soon, both of his hands are running through his hair, rising and falling with each lift and dip of his head. 

It took him a minute to realize his mistake. His hands flew back to the headboard as he felt a familiar suspense building within him. He expected Geralt to pull away from him. He expected Geralt to reproach him. Instead he saw stars as deft, clever fingers sought and found that perfect angle, that place deep within him. Again and again, Geralt hit that sweet center, as he continued to take him deep and complete into his mouth. Just as his cries grew more keen, as his hips started to thrust up seemingly of their own will, the consequence made itself known. With a lewd, wet sound his cock slid out of Geralt’s mouth, and those skilled fingers withdrew to wrap around the base of him. His grip was too firm to be pleasurable, but not enough to hurt.

“Y-You _like_ having your hair pulled,” he protested, his heels sliding against the bed in vain. In response, Geralt only tilted his head towards Jaskier’s grip, “I was doing something _nice_ , you can’t very well neglect me for trying to-”

“You had one command,” he reminded him patiently. His tone was as amused as it was feigning disappointment. To this, Jaskier pouted. It was absolutely ineffective. Geralt gave him a firm pat against the thickest part of his thigh, then moved back toward the foot of the bed, “Roll onto your stomach. You may shift your grip.”

Doing as he was bid, Jaskier repositioned himself. He propped his chin up, lest he be deprived of the scenic view of the colorless wall in front of him. His sulking ended when he heard the familiar jingle of a belt buckle followed by the metallic slide of a zipper. Knowing what was coming next, he nearly beat Geralt to the punch, already pulling his legs under himself as he gave a short, “Knees.”

Bearing weight on his knees and his elbows, he let his cheek rest against the bed so that he could stare out to the side. He could barely detect movement in his peripheral vision, but he still wet his lips in anticipation. He could feel the mattress dip as Geralt moved forward and he felt the warmth from his body over him as he leaned forward. He was taking his precious time, and when rough hands rested against his mid back, tension Jaskier didn’t realize he was carrying melted out of his body. They slid down his body in a reverent pass, over the curve of his ass and down the back of his thighs. The slight mess left in their wake could be attended to later. Without comment, he pulled his knees further apart once his hands reached his calves. A squeeze indicated that he was to stay in position, and he did, but he arched his back downwards to better present himself; he knew his own angles. This earned him another warm, appreciative hum. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated his name softly, not as a pettish whine but a quiet breathy beg. Geralt bent over him, his lips finding the curve of his shoulder as his still clothed chest brushed against Jaskier’s bare back. The friction made him thrum and reminded him of his comparative vulnerability, and his neglected cock pulsed in response, “Geralt, my wolf, _please_ . I’ve _ached_ for you.” 

Jaskier could hear his sharp inhale at the epithet, which he always saved. There was a brief shuffle of fabric, another click, and then the recognizable, wet slide of firm flesh against his cleft. It was still a tease, still just a hint of what could come, but it still drew a quiet groan. He pushed up to meet him, feeling his skin drag against the stretched, prepared muscle. He passed over him once, twice, but from the way Geralt’s own breath had sped up, Jaskier suspected he would not be left wanting long.

“Ask for it,” Geralt said, his voice little more than a low rumble. Both of his hands were pushing his cheeks apart, opening him up for every goading slide of his shaft against his sensitive skin. It never took much prompting to get Jaskier to talk, but when it was demanded of him his toes curled and heat coiled in his belly. 

“Fuck,” he started unpoetically, his eyes closing as he felt Geralt’s glans slide overtop him. The lovely train of words he had been assembling had become derailed, “Geralt, fuck me, please- I need to feel you, I want you to fill me and leave me sore with the ghost of you- Two. Weeks.”

“Hmn.”

“I’ve wanted nothing but you, but your cock,” he swallows, pushing his hips back against Geralt’s sliding shaft. He can tell his resolve waning, just waiting for the right plea to give in and give them both what they want, “I’ve been so very patient, waiting and desperate, alone- God, I want to feel it inside of me again-”

His appeal ended in a gasping cry as he felt him yield. Though he had prepared him well, the stretch of taking him in was still keenly felt. The fullness that came with it, the pressure that hit his inner walls was welcome. Geralt kept steady and slow as he took his first push and held Jaskier’s hips in place, knowing he would push back to hasten his progress. Half-way seated, Geralt attempted to withdraw, the shorter thrusts to ease him back into taking all of him, but Jaskier protested, “D-Don’t- I wa-want all of you- I can take it, I’m not fragile, please, give me my wolf whole-”

There was no refusing a request like that. He sank the final measure into him, until his hips were flush to his backside. Jaskier felt _full_. He felt stretched, and as Geralt leaned back over him, he felt enveloped. Though he didn’t ask for it, Geralt held still for him for a minute, letting him adjust into a comfortable position. Jaskier signaled he was ready with Geralt’s name on his lips. The first few thrusts were shallow as he tested his tight walls, admittedly more gently than either of them wanted. They did not suffer that pace for long. Slick, taut heat surrounded Geralt as he moved within him. He drew back far and then snapped back into place, their skin hitting audibly beneath Jaskier’s babbling pleasure. Between beseeching more and uttering prayers, his voice stumbled and sank into sweet, wordless sounds. As skilled as he was at putting together phrases, it was these brief interludes that told Geralt his aim was true. When the keening cries intensified, when his name and his title were the only words Jaskier could say, Geralt knew he was growing close again.

Jaskier saw stars with every hit to his center. His body rocked opposite Geralt’s thrusts. He was desperate for the next push and he felt himself seep from where he hung heavy between his thighs. The edge of pleasure was within reach and from the way Geralt’s grip had become bruisingly tight, he knew he was not alone.

Geralt’s pace slowed and his angle shifted with every other thrust. Jaskier took a moment to realize this was purposeful. The firm grip on his hips kept him from forcing Geralt back into the perfect position, and his mandated grip kept his hands far from his flushed, pulsing member. When he tried to ease down to rut against the mattress, he was still held in position by Geralt’s strong, immovable hands. A frustrated huff morphed into another low sigh as the fat head of Geralt’s cock dragged over his prostate, but the respite was short lived. The following thrust was deep, but directed away, as were the two after.

“I’m-I was only-” he started, the words catching in his throat as he squirmed within Geralt’s iron grip, “Geralt, you can’t be serious-”

“I have no problem leaving you unsatisfied,” he promised with a low chuckle, but his voice was affected. The changes to his pattern had not dulled his own pleasure, and Jaskier realized he had a short window to convince Geralt he was worthy of absolution.

“I wanted to touch you-” he admits, and is rewarded with another solidly aimed thrust, “I was impatient-” his voice broke into a pleasured keen as, again, he was gifted with purposeful aim, “but I’m _yours_ -” That seemed to do it. He hears Geralt groan low as he returns to their previous pace and positioning. Jaskier eyelids flutter as he is hit in that perfect way each time, and his voice is nearly lost in his breath when he implores, “ _All of me.”_

Geralt stuttered against him, and a hand at Jaskier’s hip slid down to retake him in his hand. The coaxing strokes didn’t have to match the rhythm of his thrusts, nor did they need to milk out his every drop, but they did. Jaskier spilled himself with a drawn out moan, his body jerking forward and back as he felt the wave of pleasure crash over him. His body felt overwhelmed and oversensitive as Geralt continued to push into him, before he felt a familiar wet heat burst within him.

He was panting as he felt him ease out a final time. He could only manage a soft humming whine of disappointment between breaths as his body bore down on emptiness and the other man’s spend. Geralt supported his boneless frame as he eased him down to the bed, guiding him to lie back on his stomach. He could feel his own mess against his skin, but that was a problem for the future. With a gentle touch to each of his wrists, he was bid to finally release the headboard. He laid still and breathed as he felt Geralt’s weight leave the bed, and when he returned he felt the warm press of a clean, wet rag against his skin. The bed sank behind him, and he was gently encouraged to roll onto his side. His back pressed against Geralt’s chest and he leaned against him. Lips pressed to the base of his ear, then his cheek as the cloth was passed over his front, then flung in the general direction of the laundry hamper.

“You were so good for me,” Geralt said low against his ear, as if someone might hear him being tender.

“I’m always good,” he retorted with a soft snort as Geralt’s arm crossed over him to pull him more firmly against himself.

“Debatable,” he countered, his nose pressing against his hair. They laid like this in some silence for a few minutes, occasionally shifting to get more comfortable, or just closer. Jaskier can feel something on the tip of Geralt’s tongue, so he exercises the limited patience he has left to let him say it at his own time. 

“Were… you really waiting for me?”

Jaskier blinks in mild surprise, the repeated question actually catching him off guard. He shifts in Geralt’s arms, turning until he is lying on his back.

“Sex with anyone else just isn’t as fun when it can’t annoy you,” he admits with an impish smile, reaching up to brush his fingertip against Geralt’s cheek, “What would life be without consequences?”

**Author's Note:**

> I really like this setting, and I'd love to play with drama or agnst in it... or an actual plot perhaps. Not to be horny for feedback on main, but it really does make my brain make the good good chemicals and will spur me to write more faster, I assure you.


End file.
